that my wisest course is to
submit. And now, Henry," said Gascoyne, resuming his wonted gravity of
tone and demeanour, "sit down here and let me know where we are going to
and what you mean to do. It is natural that I should feel curious on
these points even although I _have_ perfect confidence in you all."

Henry obeyed, and their voices sank into low tones as they mingled in
earnest converse about their future plans.

Thus did Gascoyne, with his family and friends, leave Sandy Cove in the
dead of that dark night, and sail away over the wide waste of the great
Pacific Ocean.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Reader, our tale is nearly told. Like a picture, it contains but a
small portion of the career of those who have so long engaged your
attention, and, I would fain hope, your sympathy. The life of man may
be comprehensively epitomised almost to a point, or expanded out _ad
infinitum_. He was born, he died, is its lowest term. Its highest is
not definable.

Innumerable tomes, of encyclopaedic dimensions, could not contain, much
less exhaust, an account of all that was said and done (and all that
might be said about what was said and done) by our _ci-devant_
sandal-wood trader and his friends. Yet there are main points, amid the
little details of their career, which it would be unpardonable to pass
over in silence. To these we shall briefly refer before letting the
curtain fall.

There is a distant isle of the sea, a beautiful spot, an oceanic gem,
which has been reclaimed by the Word of God, from those regions that
have been justly styled "the dark places of the earth." We will not
mention its name; we will not even indicate its whereabout, lest we
should furnish a clue to the unromantic myrmidons of the law, whose
inflexible justice is only equalled by their pertinacity in tracking the
criminal--to his lair!

On this beautiful isle, at the time of our tale, the churches and houses
of Christian men had begun to rise. The natives had begun to cultivate
the arts of civilisation, and to appreciate, in some degree, the
inestimable blessings of Christianity. The plough had torn up the
virgin soil, and the anchors of merchant-ships had begun to kiss the
strand. The crimes peculiar to civilised men had not yet been
developed. The place had all the romance and freshness of a flourishing
infant colony.

Early one fine morning, a half-decked boat rowed into the h